


Fever

by AZaz09



Series: Interplay [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe, Bondage, Bottom Elim Garak, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, POV Elim Garak, POV First Person, Sub Elim Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:14:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZaz09/pseuds/AZaz09
Summary: Elim has been drawn to the naive doctor since the first time he spotted him across the promenade. Is there more to this human than meets the eye?
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Interplay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576318
Comments: 32
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

I am not myself these days. The cold of the station is like an itch under my skin. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, distracting and irritating. When a visiting Ferengi came to my shop, incessantly questioning prices and quality, I snapped at him. I pushed him into the promenade and locked the doors. In the old days, of course, I would not have thought twice about breaking his neck if it suited my purposes. But here on the station, surrounded by Bajorans who would like to see me dead and Federation officers that feel much the same, I must keep up the appearance of a foolish and harmless tailor. To have so little self control is unthinkable. I had to sit in the dark and calm my self before I could sneak out the doors, and down the long corridor to my rooms. I am too on edge. And too cold. 

Now that I am in my own quarters I can finally calm down. I turn the heat up as high as the system will allow, and put on my thermal nightclothes. I crawl under both my quilts but it is not enough. The cold has followed me into my little nest. It is in my bones. I have only enough credits for rent on my rooms and my shop, plus food and a few bottles of kanar, but I am tempted to use some of my meager means to buy a real water shower. The water can get quite hot, especially when the system safety overrides are shut off. It is an expensive luxury on a space station. Perhaps I can skip my morning meals and my evening drink. I am not pleased at the thought of going without one of the few pleasures that remain to me. A drink of kanar in the evenings, and my weekly lunch with the station’s young doctor is all that is keeping me from flinging myself out of an airlock. But we all must make sacrifices, and I have to somehow stop the trembling in my hands and the numbness in my feet. I program a 15 minute shower and override the heat settings.

* * *

When the computer alarm wakes me in the morning I am momentarily confused. It feels as though I have only been lying in my bed a few minutes at most. I do not remember falling asleep. I wonder to myself if there has been some kind of treachery. Perhaps I have been drugged and beamed onto a ship. Perhaps The Order is involved. A stretch of my sore limbs tells me I have been laying in the same position for hours. Also, The Order would not put so much effort into a washed up ex-operative. To be perfectly honest to myself the only reason I have been left alive is that I simply do not matter enough to kill. 

I slowly get out of bed and feel a flash of pain on my back. It seems that I misjudged the heat of the water shower. The delicate skin between my scales has been burned. I have to use a mirror to see the swollen, blistered skin that covers most of my upper back and shoulders. It pulses with a wet mocking pain. No matter how hot the water, the cold feeling never subsided. I use a soft absorbent scarf as a makeshift bandage and carefully pull a thermal undershirt over the damaged skin. 

A visit to the infirmary would easily heal the burn in minutes. The Federation’s idealistic society offers medical care to all inhabitants and visitors on the station. I imagine facing the station’s doctor, removing my heavy brocade tunic, then my thinner thermal undershirt. He would reach out and gently peel the scarf from my burnt skin. His hands would be soft and warm against the sensitized scales. He would ask me quietly how I was injured. His hands would prod the ridges along my shoulders, the touch so soft I would not be sure I could even feel it. He would lean forward to better see the damage and I would feel his breath on my chufa. He would be worried. Did I hurt myself through carelessness or some other, darker, reason. No. I can not visit Bashir with this. I will have to let it heal on its own. I have certainly suffered through worse.

* * *

The shop is slow in the morning. The shop is often show. In the first three hours there is one customer, an aged Vulcan grand dame looking for something to replace a robe that was lost. The Vulcan desire for simplicity means she does not care for any of the more ornate items I have on hand, and her short visit means a commission is not viable. I am desperate for the credits and attempt to convince her to take a woolen sweater in the Andorian style but this only offends her and she leaves with her nose in the air.

I take lunch of replicated protein powder and tea in my work room. I had been indoctrinated with a respect for thrift by both Tain and Tolan. From Tolan I learned to appreciate the simple pleasure of providing for my own needs. Eating meals grown from my own garden, wearing clothing constructed by my own hands. Working class Tolan never felt impoverished. He was deeply fulfilled with his role in Cardassia’s society. He had, once, held a neemuk root to his Chula and animatedly explained that this was the heart of our people. I tried in my youth to understand his passion for honest work and simple lifestyle but his sentiments escaped me at the time. Tain, on the other hand, valued thrift as a sign of piety. He believed all suffering was a gift to cardassia and would often sit at his immense desk working through both lunch and dinner, then staying up late into the evening, forgoing most of the nights sleep. I remember Mila sneaking into this office with a tray of food and later coming out with the untouched tray. 

As I return to the front of the shop and unlock the door I feel ashamed of the credits I squandered last night. If there are no customers today I will not be able to eat at the replimat with the doctor tomorrow. Perhaps I can order a tea and tell him I feel unwell... no he would surely drag me to the infirmary and his scanning devices and training would give away such an obvious lie. Maybe I can claim some Cardassian fasting tradition. The Bajorans are constantly fasting for this or that celebration. It would seem reasonable that we, Cardassians, have some similar observance. 

I am loathe to cancel the lunch altogether and miss the small time devoted each week to arguing politics and literature with the clever doctor Bashir. I wonder if he feels the cold of the station. The federation uniforms are so thin and unsubstantial there is nearly nothing protecting his long lean form the harsh station air. He told me once his ancestors were from a desert area on earth. He must be accustomed to a much warmer climate. I can imagine his golden skin shining in the sunlight. Even here he nearly glows. He is like the star in the center of my solar system. My only light and warmth comes from him. Why do I think these sorts of things? Why can I not get this man out of my mind? I am not myself these days. 

* * *

I vow to break my lunch date with the doctor as some proof that I am not completely lost. As our customary meal time grew closer, I know I will not cancel. I try to justify my need to see him. I am only using the good doctor to gain information about the federation. Perhaps I am simply satisfying my Cardassian need for conversation, and can drop him easily when he becomes an obstacle. Any excuse to explain my increasing need to be near him. I wonder how far I would go. I wonder who I would betray for this young Terran. How did he get past my defenses? He is awkward and presumptuous, his every thought and emotion dances across his face. How was I taken down after so many years of strict training by this coltish youth? Before him I was untouchable. Even here exiled from my home I thought only of Cardassia. I would suffer for the Union as Tain taught me, as Cardassia expects of me, protected by my righteousness. Now I am as vulnerable as the burned skin on my shoulders. My entire life is simply a count down to the hour of our lunch, and then immediately after, the countdown starts again. I spend the time between visits scouring the database for books he may enjoy, or composing falsehoods to impress him, and anecdotes to entertain him. 

As I am leaving to take my lunch at the replimat the message system on my computer terminal beeps. It is the doctor. He will not be able to make our lunch. It seems my worry has been for nothing. I tighten my hands into a fist and return to my work room.

* * *

The afternoon proves a better distraction than the morning had been. Three Batazoid women enter my shop and walk passed the displays and directly to the counter. They are, as most Betazoids, extremely fashionable. They could be sisters or perhaps cousins and are all just reaching middle age, although obvious surgical alterations and youthful clothing gave the impression they are not aging without a fight. The first woman tilts her sharp chin int he air and asks where the better dresses are kept. The other two gather behind her like a flock of brightly colored birds, chirping and preening. “Dear ladies!”, I smile at them “surely women of your caliber would not wear clothing off the rack, let me design something that would suit your beauty.” Within 10 minutes I have them eating out of my hand like a pack of well trained riding hounds. It seems they are to attend a wedding on the promenade in 3 days and had misunderstood the wedding customs of Terrans. They urgently need appropriate attire. I show them several designs and sample of some very fine silk I have in storage. If I can manage to finish all three commissions in time, I will have enough to purchase an entire new shipment of fabrics. 

It is quite refreshing to spend time around customers whose politics do not require them to be cold and guarded in my presence. Their flirty chatter and gossip gives me useful information about the current conditions on Betazoid, not to mention some sordid details about several Starfleet officers that will be attending the wedding. I set to work immediately drafting patters and programming my cutting device. 

When Tarok Nor was under Cardassian control it ran continuously. While it officially followed the 26 hour day pattern of the planet below, the workers were divided into 13 hour shifts that followed each other then began again. The station was the same no matter what time it was. The corridors were constantly bustling with workers and guards. Now under the gentle management of the Bajoran government “Deep Space 9” is eerily deserted in the wee hours or the “morning”. Just an hour before the first shift of officers would begin their sleepy journey to their stations I finally leave my shop with a few scraps of lace and embroidery that will require some hand sewing and return to my quarters.

I had made good progress and hope for a few hours of sleep, before continuing the work. I hum a tune that Mila used to sing, as I make my way through the quiet station. The lighting is dim in the very early hours of the day and deep shadows hang across the corridor. I feel the edges of the scales across my arms and back tingle and tighten. Some nearly imperceptible scent, and a bit of movement in the next hallway catches my attention. Someone is there. I do not alter my stride or give any indication anything is amiss. Each step brings me closer to the intersection. The strange smell is getting stronger. Metallic and bright with a slightly musky mammalian smell under it. And perhaps the scent of pine. There is a small phasor in the sleeve of my tunic and a unique defensive light weapon hidden in the top button. I ready myself and turned the corner just as I hear the whoosh of a closing door. I walk carefully passed the intersection and try to decipher which door hides the early morning lurker. It is possible it had only been a visitor having trouble opening the door, there are several perfectly innocent reasons someone would stand quietly in the hallway for a few minutes before entering their quarters. I decide to spend a little time looking into the stations data base for recent arrivals just in case. One can not be too careful.

* * *

The stations security logs are hidden behind several layers of Federation encryption that are extremely easy to bypass completely using my Cardassian codes. None of the recently arrived ships offer me any useful information so I check into the registered resident of those rooms. I find that all the quarters in that part of the hall are vacant. I decide to find computer visual feeds from the are and they only display an empty hall. Completely empty. Not only do they not show my mysterious lurker, they do not show my passing. They are clearly false feeds that were planted to hide the resident of the empty quarters. I check the security locks and my door and implement and extra layer of security to the door of my small bedroom and try to get a bit of rest. Even if this stranger is hiding from Odo that does not mean they are here for me and, I still have two and a half dresses to complete. I lay in bed and actively control my breathing until I am calm then I relax each muscle one at a time. The same technique I used to fall asleep when Tain would lock me in his office closet. 

* * *

I dream of golden skin and soft brown eyes in the desert.

* * *

From the very moment I wake up I work on my commission. The first and second dresses are completed without any major complications. They are long, just sweeping the floor, and made of a lovely thin silk that floats around the wearer. One is a soft light blue with cream orchids woven into the fabric, and the other is a creamy green embroidered with a series of lines and knots. They beautifully compliment the last dress that will be of bronze silk, with lace stitched carefully over the bodice. When the ladies come in for a fitting they praise the quality and style, complimenting each other in high voices and giggling at jokes, likely told to one another in their telepathic Betazoid language. They pay for the entire commission and agree to return in the morning to pick up all four dresses. Still cheerfully giggling together they leave with a flourish of their jewelry covered hands.

With only one dress to finish, i feel the pressure ease a bit and my mind wonders back to the mysterious person or persons illicitly occupying the rooms around the corner from me. I could hide a small camera to collect images of the hallway that was not connected to the computer system. I have a device that would work for that kind of information collection in my rooms. It is nearly completely flat and a bit smaller than a button. I could hide it at the intersection after my work day and come back in the morning to see if it collected any usable data. I am strangely stimulated by the mystery of the secret neighbor. For the first time in recent memory I do not mind the cold. I am still chilled, of course, but it does not seem quite as bitter. 

* * *

After planting the device, I head directly to my quarters, but I am too anxious to work or read. Even this small bit of intrigue reminds me of the past and the life I had lived. Both the good and the terrible emotions are rising to the surface. I attempt to go to bed early and make up for the sleepless nights spent working the last two days, but I lie here awake with my mind circling from event to event. The painful occasions in Bamarran. Those who I felt the closest to for a moment in time then never saw again. A deception I was both sure of at the time, and terribly uncertain about in retrospect. 

I fix my mind on a image. Strong lean shoulders, grey darkening ridges, Tight muscles under warm smooth scales. Slowly i run my fingers along the ridges at my hip. The flesh here is no more sensitive than it is anywhere else. From my work I have learned that most species have a heightened sensitivity in this area, but Cardassian scales protect our softer flesh from both damage and sensation. There is an area, however, just at the junction of scales to flesh, at the edge of my ajan, that when stroked gently brings me a great deal of pleasure. 

I let my fingers wander there, caressing the delicate skin and tugging on the overlapping scales. When I feel arousal starting to take hold, I dip my fingertip inside and let it slide through the increasingly wet opening. As I become more aroused my ridges and the scales become engorged with blood, swelling and darkening. The swelling causes the inner walls of my ajan to show through the normally tightly closed slit. The dark skin glistens with naturally produced lubrications, and I rub my fingers through it with increasing speed. When I am close to everting, I use two fingers to spread open my swollen opening, and the cool air hits the normally well protected organ. My prUt quickly becomes harder and pushes out through my sensitive ajan. The friction between my inner walls and the ridges of my erect prUt push me even closer to orgasm.

I become more and more focused on the pressure building between my legs. I conjure images from both my memory and imagination. Exposed clavicles and chula on a shirtless man working construction in the evening sun. The obscene dancer exposing his chuva at the miner’s bar on Aschelon V. Without meaning to the images in my mind morph and change. Where there was scaly grey skin dark ridges I now see lean golden flesh and gently curling hair. Everything else fades into the background as I rub my palm along the length of my prUt and across the head. I use my thumb to press into the ridges at each pass, until my breath stutters and the pressure becomes unbearable. An ache begins to form deep inside and spreads through my ajan and into my prUt itself. I slow my strokes but I have lost control, I fall into release. My legs tremble and my prUt burns, then slowly everything goes dark. For a moment even my body seems to disappear and my mind is completely at ease. As I fall into a deep sleep I feel a faraway sense of shame for what I have done. Then I feel nothing. 

* * *

In the morning I collect the recording device. I had hidden it in a doorway where the corridors intersect in order to catch anyone going in or out of one of the empty suites. I am able to pick it up and secure it away in my sleeve without pausing on my way to my shop. I want to immediately connect it to my computer to see what evidence it holds but I force myself to go about my usual business of readying my store for the day. I am expecting my Betazoid customers to pick up their commissions early in the morning and I do not want to leave them waiting. I will have plenty of time during my lunch hour. 

Strangely, the dresses remain on their hangers for the entire morning and I hear nothing from my wedding guests. I attempt to contact them but I realize they had not left any information on where they were staying. I contact operations to find out any information they might have on my betazoid customers but when I explain the situation I am unexpectedly transferred to security. Odo himself demands I remain where I am and he immediately comes to the shop. 

My mind is spinning with questions but I train my face into the pleasant helpful tailor and acquiesce to his interrogation. I learn little from Odo’s questions. The betazoid women are missing, he askes several times if I know their whereabouts or how to contact them. He asks if I had known them before this week and if I am aware of their position in Betazoid politics. I answer truthfully to his queries, I have no idea where they are and I did not think to research them over a lucky commission. I suspect they are from a powerful family but none of them struck me as politically motivated and in fact they seemed a quite frivolous. Finally satisfied with my answers Odo and his team leave the shop, although he does give me a parting suspicious glare and instructions to contact him if I hear from the ladies or remember anything else. I promise my good intentions while bowing my head and he leaves with a scowl. 

FINALLY! Now that I am alone I can check my video feed. Tucked away in the back of my workroom, with the door safely locked, I plug it into my personal computer. I am sure of the security I had installed, but I also know Odo would be snooping more than usual during his investigation. The hall was empty for most of the night but just before morning there is movement at one of the doors and a humanoid girl walks out. She is perhaps 25 with simple nondescript clothing and her brown hair swept up in a utilitarian bun. She seems to be walking directly toward the device and when she is only a few feet away she tilts her head to the side and waves her hand in the Terran greeting that has become common on the station. She then walks past the corridor. 

I am frozen, she somehow knew about the device and instead of avoiding it she is mocking me. I wonder if she had anything to do with the missing betazoid women. I wonder if she came here for me. The Obsidian Order has never been in the habit of employing Terrans, however, The Order are far from my only foes. In the time since my youth I have made enemies on nearly every planet I set foot on. The death of a loved one is motivation for revenge that does not diminish with time. I view the bit of footage several times, looking for any clue who she might be. She seems harmless enough, smallish, with a round childlike face and large hazel eyes. She is graceful when she walks but otherwise quite forgettable. The little smile she offers as she waves her hand at me seems sincere. I know then that I will have to act first. I will have to find her and end this game. Regardless of her intentions she is dangerous. I am also dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

Tain’s attempt at guiding my young mind into an efficient tool of the state only succeeded in giving me a lifelong phobia of closed spaces, and enhanced my ability to lie. It was Tolan’s lessons that gave me the skills I used for most of my career. To successfully tend a healthy garden one must be without mercy. Pruning away living stems and flowers for the good of the plant, tearing out lovely but fast growing isca flowers and digging down to remove every trace of their roots to protect the more necessary vegetable plants. With the limited space and water available one must be strong and tear away, without sentiment, that which would threaten the health of the garden. It was a difficult lesson, as the tiny white flowers were my favorite, their soft downy petals and gentle sweet scent was the first sign of spring. But they were hearty and had a root system that would grow unnoticed underground and strangle out any plant that was near. In time I became the protective and careful gardener of the Union. I could both appreciate the desires and intentions of dissidents while removing any trace of them from the planet. I had a great deal of sympathy for them, and their relatively innocent family and friends but that would not stop me from tearing out the root system completely. 

* * *

I know where the girl has been staying and what she looks like, however, she has allowed me to have that information and therefore I can not trust it. She clearly has access to the computer systems, I will not be able to rely on anything from security or operations. She was also aware of the device I had hidden, although, I was quite discrete when I placed it there. Are there video feeds I am not aware of? Can she see into my shop or my quarters? I have to be much more careful. I will visibly back off of her trail, try too make it seem she had frightened me away. If I am not the reason she is here, there is no reason to make myself more visible. I also need to find a way to gather information discretely. There are several levels on the station that are not used any longer, mostly ore processing areas. They are closed off, however, they were never completely changed over to federation systems and I can access them using the old Cardassian codes. Just after our forces left the station I hid a small power generator and a portable transmitter on one of those levels. I can send and receive signals alongside the stations transmissions that will be completely undetectable unless you knew exactly what to look for and even then they would be quite impossible to decode. Getting into the correct maintenance conduit without being detected will be more difficult as I do not know where she can and can not see me.

I have to move quickly, so I decide to risk entering the conduit from the panel in the back room of my shop. I can use the pretext of working on some mending and be in and out of the lower level in fifteen minutes or less. That should be enough time to find any information on the girl and put some queries to people that owed me some favors, I still have a few debts to call in. 

After my customary closing time I lock the door and make a show of taking my mending basket and equipment, for anyone that is watching. I take it to the back room and sit in a chair that is just visible from the shop’s front window. I then pick up the first item and call for the computer to close the back room door. Hopefully, if someone is watching, they believe I am hard at work.

I quickly remove the panel on the wall leading to the small maintenance tunnel. I take a steadying breath and climb into the tube. It is small. My back brushes against the wall of the tunnel while I climb. I have four levels to climb and then I can leave the tiny conduit and make my way to my hidden generator and transmitter. I count each step to keep my mind off the impossibly small space( 8, 9, 10). The tunnel seems to be getting a bit smaller. My elbows bump the walls as I descend, my tunic keeps catching on the edge of the metal panels behind me (16, 17, 18). I bite hard on my tongue to keep myself from making any noises. By the time I reach deck four I am shaking. I open the panel that leads to one of the ore storage units and sit on the ground forcing myself to breath. After several calming breathes I walk to the old data center. I had hidden the equipment in a panel in the wall just inside. When I reach the door I enter my code but there is no response. I try several times but all my codes are denied. Frustrated, I prepare to forcibly open the door when it suddenly slides open. There in front of me is the girl. My mind reels as I try to make sense of what is happening. She lookes... disappointed? I reach for the small phasor I am in the habit of carrying but before I can even raise my arm something hits me in the chest. I hear the noise before I feel it. Then everything becomes blurry and pain shoots down my spine. I try to speak but the room is growing darker, and then there is nothing. 

I awake some time later. I have no way of knowing how much time has passed but I seem to be alone. I attempt to sit up and my head screams in pain. My vision blurs and I become nauseous. I am able to roll onto my side to avoid choking on my vomit and the world once again goes black. 

The next time I wake I am able to sit up. There is a small amount of light in the room coming from single computer screen. It bathes the room in an unnatural bluish light. I can see the door I came in through and a small desk with several monitors. This is one of several small data centers that housed ore processing information so the computers would be connected to the main systems in operations. I try to call for the computer but there is no response so I crawl to the desk to manually call for security. Each attempt is met with a infuriating buzz and request for a password. I decide to try to return to the inhabited part of the station. I crawl back to the door, making sure to avoid the puddle of body fluids I left. Dark sticky blood and urine puddle where I had fallen. I try several times to open the door, both manually and with my clearance codes. I open the panel next to the door but there is some kind of force field over the mechanics inside. I feel panic taking hold of me. I sit there, by the door, and pace my breathing, trying to control my spiraling thoughts. Then, I return to the desk and look at the single working monitor. It is displaying Cardassian programming that is used to link to an incoming visual feed. This is likely the area she used to access the stations computer system. The feed is disable now but perhaps I can cause it to alert the federation system that there is a breech and they will come looking into it. I begin a very clumsy attempt at bypassing security in hopes that the federation can detect me.

After several hours the sharp ache in my head has softened to a dull throb but it continues to bleed. I tear off a part off my thermal shirt as a makeshift bandage to try to stifle the flow of thick dark blood. I walk the perimeter of the room to stretch my legs and clear my mind.

There in the far corner I notice a smear of red. In the dim blue light it is barely visible but when I touch it I can tell it is blood. It appears to be a few hours old and much lighter than Cardassian blood. Near it is a tiny blue jewel. I remember the Betazoid women and their jewel encrusted wrists and fingers. One of them in particular wore a bracelet embedded with tiny blue gems like this one. I had noticed it when I was measuring her arms and had selected the color of her dress based on how well the blue complimented her skin tone. I wonder if she is still alive.

I return to the computer and continue my work. I am able to reach some of the localized systems but I am unsure if the Federation monitors these insignificant, unused terminals. In order to get noticed I have to reach a system that is connected to the rest of the station. After many failed attempts a thought occurs to me. If I can cause a spike in power usage that may get some attention. I set the computer to work changing local settings over and over in the hope it will pull just a bit more power. 

Blood drips down my ear and onto the desk beside me. The drip. drip. drip. keeps time for me. I am growing confused. Some part of me can see it happening but I can not work out what to do about it. I wonder how long my body will lay here decomposing before it is found. Will Cardassia welcome me home in death or is my exile to be permanent. I realize I do not know the Terran burial customs. It will be my last humiliation to have my body passed among outsiders. 

I want to perform the shri-tal, but there is no one here to tell, in the entire universe there is no one that would listen to my secrets or take my revenge. 

* * *

Mila is calling for me. She is cross with me for getting home late. I know anger is her way of protecting me. She wants to make me strong enough to survive. To survive Tain. I run the length of the garden and enter the back door. Mila is there in her apron holding a plate of food and already lecturing me on punctuality. Her hair is black, as it was when I was a child. It will turn white by the time I enter Bamarran. Oh. This is not real. This all happened long ago. I try to wake myself and am met with searing pain. “Garak” it is not Mila this time. The voice is soft and melodic. “Garak, wake up” I try to open my eyes but the light is blinding. “Bashir to Ops, two to transport directly to medical bay” Then I feel the tingle of a transporter beam and the darkness takes over once again.

* * *

The doctor is sitting near my tiny biobed. I do not know how long he has been here but I can hear his gentle steady breathing. There is a scent that is his alone. It is made up of the disinfectant used in the surgery and the floral soap he favors and the spice of tarkalian tea and some Julian-ness. I know it is him sleeping lightly in the chair without even turning my head. I always know when he is near. The bed makes a soft beep to signify a change in my status and the doctor sits up. He walks to my side and places a hand on my forehead. I do not open my eyes. My heart is pounding. He moves his hand to stroke my hair. The gesture is so intensely intimate that I am unsure of what to do. I lay as still as I can and try to keep my breathing steady. Can he hear my heart? How are you feeling, Garak?” He whispers. I cannot answer. His hand is still in my hair. I try to remember if I have ever seen Terrans touch each other this way. Is it a common type of greeting on Earth? The way they kiss cheeks and embrace body to body, stroking ones hair is probably quite tame to them. His hand rubs along the side of my face and I nearly purr with contentment. There is a voice in my slowly waking mind that is already putting together a plan to locate the girl but I can not help but feel safe here. The doctor pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear and his palm brushes against the side of my face. The scales along my neck tingle and vibrate with pleasure. I take a deep relaxed breath and fall into a dreamless sleep 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

The day I was released from sickbay Julian walked me to my quarters and surprised me with a small gift. It was a box of chocolates in the shape of earth roses. Each confection was just the size of my thumb, with delicately sculpted petals and leaves. They were coated in brittle sugar, colored soft pink and iridescent yellow. They were carefully packaged in a gold colored box with tiny letters along the outside, in a language I did not recognize, and a red silk ribbon. I marveled at the tiny works of art after he left. I ate one the first day. The candy coating crushed as I put it in my mouth. Inside was a dark rich chocolate that melted as it hit my tongue. The simple sugar coating contrasted beautifully with the deep spicy taste of the chocolate. It was exquisite 

I sat for most of the evening wondering at the chocolates and the doctor and the way he stoked my hair. I have never received a gift like this. It seems maudlin and overly romantic, but to actually receive such a thing from someone you...care for...I am unsure of how to process it all. The following day I expected him to check on my recovery, however, one of the Bajoran nurses stopped by instead. It has now been seven days since I last heard from him. I saw a glimpse of him playing darts with Chief O’brian yesterday. I sent him several messages inviting him for lunch. He has not yet responded. 

* * *

In Cardassia there was a small mammal called a t’kree, about the size of an earth mouse. They lived in dark unused places like abandoned houses and empty vole tunnels. They were one of the most terrifying creatures known to The Union. They had a symbiotic relationship with a microscopic parasite. One tiny bite from these small rodent’s razor sharp teeth would infect the unlucky prey. The parasite would quickly infect the brain and quietly reproduce until it began predigesting tissue. In small animals, death took a few hours at most and the t’kree would follow at its leasure, finding an already partly digested feast. A full grown Cardassian male would take many months to die, slowly being digested from the inside out. No one has ever survived a t’kree bite. Even at a time when doctors could transplant a heart or cure most diseases the bite was always fatal. They became extinct thousands of years ago, but there is a saying about them that is still used today “between the bite and death”. It is that time when the parasite is quietly killing you but you do not know it yet. 

I wonder when I was bitten. I wonder when I stopped being them man I was and became this husk, slowly being destroyed from the inside. Elim Garak of the Obsidian Order would not sit in a dark room, clutching a box of chocolates, and begging what gods there might be for a small token. Let him message me, let him come for lunch, anything....Perhaps this was the punishment Tain meant for me. He could not simply have me executed, he sent me here to be completely destroyed. Or worse, maybe he could see this in me already, and exiled me here because he knew in my heart I was weak and sentimental and foolish. 

I still have the chocolates. There were twelve in the box and I have eleven of them left. I can not bring myself to eat them or send them into the recycler. 

* * *

There is an appointment today with Odo. He has stopped by several times this week to talk unofficially, and today he wants to finalize his report. He was kind to allow me some time before the bureaucracy of an official interview. He is aggressively searching for the girl. The federation matched a blood sample from the data center to one of the missing Betazoid women, and the Betazoid government is putting a lot of pressure on the station to find them. 

As I enter security, he offers me a cup of warm tea and politely pulls out a chair. I am well versed in interrogation techniques and I can see he means to make me feel relaxed and unguarded. He knows I am holding back information. I do not believe he suspects me of the crime, but Odo is one of the most observant people on the station and I will have to be careful with my story. I tell him I heard a noise from a panel in my shop and while investigating it I saw the girl and was somehow knocked out. I woke in the abandoned data center. He eyes me suspiciously but says nothing. He asks several times how I contacted the doctor but I have to admit I am unsure myself. My attempts were to have security or operations notice the activity in the unused decks. I do not know how Bashir would have been the first to discover me. Odo holds his suspicions close too his chest and dismisses me after repeating the story several more times. His expression is an artifice and has no real significance other than what he chooses to show. In this case he wants to show me he does not trust me. 

There has been a security detail “protecting” me day and night and I believe he has replaced several of the listening devices in my shop while I was held in sickbay. I have taken to playing Klingon opera while my shop is empty just to irritate him. I imagine the scowl on his face while suffering through Aktuh and Maylota. By the second week other duties have taken some of his attention and I find there is only one guard assigned to watching me. It should be fairly easy to escape his scrutiny and make my way to Julian’s office. I do not believe the girl is on the station any longer, however, I am still quite vigilant with my personal security. I select a phase pistol that can be hidden in my tunic and a small stiletto that fits into my boot and head to my shop. 

The store has been open erratically since the incident but the money from the commission was paid in latinum, and more than covers my expenses for awhile. I open the shop for the morning and head to the replimat during the early lunch rush. I am, indeed, able to slip away unseen by my security and head to sickbay. 

The doctor is standing near his office looking at a padd. There is a scowl on his face as he reads the screen. His forehead is creased and his lips are pursed as he looks at it intensely. I notice his hair has grown a bit longer than usual and a lock of it curls at the nape of his neck. It catches the harsh artificial lights and glows like a halo. It looks soft. I want to reach out and run my fingers across it the way he did to me in the infirmary. Just then he notices I am standing in the doorway and his expression completely transforms. A bright grin breaks out across his face. Hazel eyes sparkle. I had an entire speech ready but he beats me to it. “Garak, it’s good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?” “Quite recovered, my dear” I respond. “I had hoped to thank you with dinner at the Bajoran restaurant tonight” I added, my casual demeanor gives nothing away. There is a momentary sparkle in his eyes, I can see his pupils dilate slightly and a faint blush rises in his cheeks. “Im sorry, Garak, but I have plans in the holosuite tonight.” He says pressing his lips into a thin smile, “another time maybe?” I thank him and leave as quickly as I can. 

* * *

I am going to end this one way or another. I do not know if the doctor’s hot and cold behavior has some cultural significance but it is driving me mad. I am going to confront him, tonight. He will regret toying with me. 

I head to Quarks, and with some bribery and some blackmail I find out which suite the doctor has leased and what program he plans to use. It is a historical spy fantasy program. I am somewhat aware of it, several months ago he asked me to alter a Terran formal suite appropriate for the time period and I still have the pattern in my shop. I head back to work and start putting together an approximation of a “tuxedo” for Cardassian dimensions. When it is finished I lock the door and set the closed sign. The cut of the suit is clearly meant for the leaner Terran form, however, I believe my version suits me as well as can be expected. It is a deep black fine wool with a pure white shirt. It does not represent Cardassian esthetics, but, I admire the simple color scheme and elongating cut. The look is finished with a bit of silk frill at the collar tied into a bow. 

In my quarters I take a sonic shower and then lightly oil my scales. I run some of the precious Cardassian grooming oil through my hair and arrange it carefully back. After a moment of thought I add a bit of blue to my chufa. It is somewhat ostentatious, but Bashir would not understand its significance and it gives me some much needed confidence. I have never fit the Cardassian standard of beauty. I am not tall and lean with defined ridges and piercing dark eyes. I stand as tall as I can in front of my mirror, fix a placid smile onto my face and leave for Quark’s bar. 

* * *

The moment I break into the doctor’s holosuite I begin to have doubts. He is embracing a very buxom character in a red dress. Blue chufa or not, all my insecurities come crashing back down. Oh but Julian! He is particularly dashing in his tuxedo. The white shirt makes his golden skin glow and the black silk tie shows off his long neck. His hair is freshly trimmed and eyes are closed. I watch him for a moment, take a steadying breath, and announce myself.

I flirt outrageously with him, both in the Cardassian and Terran way. I take every opportunity to touch him. My fingers sit lightly on his back and shoulders just a hair longer than propriety would allow. I tease and argue with him trying to provoke passion. By the time I realize something is very much amiss with the program I find I am more agitated than the good doctor. My plan seems to be backfiring. When Lt. Cmdr. Eddington tells Bashir the patterns of several high ranking Federation officers, including his close friends, are in the holosuite computer he is completely focused on saving them. I, however, am distracted. Agitated. Panicked... 

What should be a simple task, stay alive in a fantasy holosuite program long enough for Mr Eddington to transfer the patterns, becomes an overwhelming prospect. I am so close to the doctor. I will not let everything end like this. I won’t allow myself to be killed in some ridiculous semi-pornographic bit of spy fantasy to save the lives of Federation officers who would like to see me dead or in a section-31 detention center. I work myself into a frenzy, each minute I grow more and more distressed. I imagine what Tain would say. I want to leave the holosuite. I have had enough. I need to calm myself, to sit in my quarters for awhile and think. I call for the computer to end the program and Julian draws a gun on me. I am enraged. And then he shoots. 

Time stops. There is a blinding pain in the sensitive ridges of my neck. Julian is calm. His eyes are filled with determination. I touch my neck and there is blood. For that moment I am unsure if the shot was fatal. Time rushes forward again and Julian is continuing with the program in order to save the officers. He stops to look at my neck and touches the injured spot. My normally gentle and innocent doctor roughly handles the ridge he so recently shot and my mind goes blank. The tension and confusion of the last few months fades and I follow him.

* * *

When at last Lt. Cmdr. Eddington gives us the all clear to end the program, Julian pauses at the doorway and looks at me. His eyes dart back and forth across my face, searching. I feel exposed. He is standing close and there is a new scent to him. Something provocative and musky. Adrenaline perhaps. His eyes are nearly black. His skin is flushed. He raises his hand to stroke the ridges at my jaw but brings it to the back of my head instead. His fingers tangle into my hair and he leans forward. I feel the tug of his fingers in my hair burn in my scalp. My damaged ridge still throbs with each beat of my heart. I want this. If this is my only reward for a lifetime of service and deprivation, it is enough. His hand tightens in my hair and he pulls me forward, to him. His lips touch mine for a moment before his tongue pushes into my mouth. This is not the way Cardassians kiss, but it is sublime. There is a heat radiating from him that could burn me. My mind is blessedly silent, at this moment there is only Julian. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little bit more explicit.

As he walks out of the holosuite door Julian wipes the dampness from our kiss off his mouth with the back of his sleeve. I am still dazed by what happened. He smiles at me. It is a sly, knowing smile. “My quarters in one hour?” he asks. “You did promise me a thank you dinner, after all.” He is in his element, it seems. I do not answer but he turns and walks out the door anyway. The program has stopped running and the drab grey walls of the holosuite are criss crossed with a yellow grid. It feels empty. I slowly count to five and walk out the door myself. 

After I have changed, bandaged my neck, and showered once more, I sit in my reading chair. I have 38 minutes left before I am expected at Julians quarters. I sit in the dark, and count the minutes. I am nervous. I have had very little sexual experience. I am no prude, sexuality is a very important part of Cardassian life, but it is customarily reserved until engagement. I have never made a good prospective spouse, for a variety of obvious reasons, so Tain took matters into his own hands, as he so often did. When I reached the appropriate age, he sent me to a government run brothel. The location was secure and the workers had been carefully selected for their discretion. The woman who came to meet me in the well appointed bedroom was handsome in her way. She was nearly Mila’s age, and had a clinical detachment about her. She asked me a few questions, and plied her trade with efficiency and professionalism. I was given a card to present at the door to allow me entrance whenever I felt the need to return. I never went back. 

Now that I am finally faced with the reality of intimacy with Julian, I am apprehensive. He appears so casual and confident, not the sweetly uncertain doctor that follows my lead and hangs on my every word. I am not sure what is expected of me. I know that mechanics of intercourse between Terran men, but that does not alleviate my nervousness. Luckily the meditative quiet that fell over me in the holosuite program has not dissipated and I am able to wait quietly.

As I approach Julian’s quarters, I think about walking away. I could forget this entire misguided idea and return to my solitude. His door opens before I can turn around and he is there. He is still wearing the tuxedo shirt, but the top few buttons are open and the jacket is missing. “Come in, Garak” he says quietly, and I do. He begins kissing me as soon as the door slides closed behind me. My back is against the cold metal of the bulkhead, and his warm body is pressed against me. He pulls his lips away and whispers something, but I am too lightheaded to decipher it. He places a chaste kiss on the side of my mouth and repeats himself. “Come have a drink with me.” He guides me into his darkened living space. There is a sofa with a table and two glasses. The only light is coming from a few carefully placed candles. It is contrived. I wonder if this is the same pageant he puts on for all of his conquests, the chocolates, the candles, the open buttons showcasing his sharp clavicles. 

We sit together on the sofa and he pulls a bottle from beside the table. It is kanar. Real kanar. I recognize the brand as something Tain would keep for special diplomatic meetings. It is rare and expensive. Shocked, I take the bottle from his hands and ask where he obtained it. “Oh I saw it while off the station, and wanted to try it.” his answer is vague. Julian is a terrible liar. I am genuinely curious where he got such a quality vintage. I feel a twinge of guilt drinking such a fine kanar. The bottle is feels good in my hands. The clear glass spirals up in a tower of shining loops. It is reminiscent of Cardassian architecture. The liquid inside is dark and thick as I pour a small amount into our glasses. The scent hits my nose before I drink it and I am transported momentarily to my youth. The dim twinkling lights and spicy sweet kanar reminds me of Tain’s study. He shared a drink with me there the day I was officially recruited into The Order. It was rich and sweet and spicy with none of the sharp pungent tones of the thin cheap kanar from the working class bars, or worse, the stations replicators. I take a sip and Julian follows suit. It is divine. Complex flavors and a heavy viscosity filled my mouth and I closed my eyes to fully enjoy this unexpected treat. When I open my eyes Julian is pressing his lips together to try to force himself to swallow. He sees that I have caught him, and he laughs “I guess it’s an acquired taste”. I laugh along with him and pour myself a second glass. Julian switches to a bottle of whisky O’Brien gave him for his birthday, and we continue to drink companionably. 

There is a tension growing between us. We both know why I am here and yet neither has broached the subject or moved to continue with the kiss. Finally Julian leans closer and places his hand on my leg. “I’m glad you are here.” He says with sincerity. “I wasn’t sure if you would show up.” “How could I resist such a heartfelt invitation.” I quip back. He smiles warmly. His face is glistening ever so slightly and I realize the heat in his quarters has been turned up above station regulations. Thoughtful. If he were Cardassian we would argue, our passions rising until they turned physical. He is human so he rubs his thumb gently across the fabric of my pants while looking into my eyes. I prefer the Cardassian way. 

“I would like to talk some things over before we... continue.” His voice is even and the words were obviously chosen carefully. I tilt my head in assent. “I believe you...” he stops “from what I have noticed... you seem to prefer things to be a bit rougher...” “Doctor if you believe the hearsay about Cardassian behavior in the bedroom, you have been mislead. I promise I have no intention of hurting you.” I assure him. “No, thats not what I meant” he replies “ **I** would like to be rough, with **you**. Humans often incorporate role play into sex.” He voice begins to take on the excitement usually reserved for explaining new medical research. I am not following his wordy explanation. He talks of bondage with ropes and intermixing pain with pleasure. I sit quietly while he explains what he wants from me. His words fill me with a shameful hunger. 

I can hardly hear him in the end. Blood is rushing to my head. My heart is pounding in my ears. I want to lash out. The stiletto is still in my boot. I could have it in his long neck before he knows I have moved. There are several ways I could end his life in this room. Instead, I say in a mocking voice “What makes you believe I want you to be, as you say, a bit rougher?” He leans in and runs his hands through my hair. My entire body is rigid. I am ready to spring away or attack. He coils his fingers through my hair and tugs my head back hard. I nearly evert. His teeth are on my neck ridges. I cannot hold back a deep moan. I am filled with a deep and inescapable longing to submit to him. “You have to say it” he whispers in m ear. I can’t gather my thoughts. “Please” I hear myself whisper back. “You have to ask” he says again. “Yes” I stammer, “I want it”. He bites harder and moves his free hand to my face. His skin is so hot. He leaves my ridge and begins kissing me hard while holding my jaw in a tight grip so that I can not turn away. Some part of me wants to push him off but I am frozen. When he finally pulls away his skin is flushed and his lips are swollen from the friction. He takes my hand and gently leads me into the bedroom.

He undresses me and I make no move to stop him or to help. I feel in some way that I am watching this from the outside. My tunic is folded and placed on a chair near the bed. My boots are removed, with the stiletto still in its place and pushed neatly under the chair. He is taking his time. It is so unlike him. He slowly peels the thermal shirt over my head and runs his nails down my ridges to the edge of my chula. He unfastens my pants and I suddenly regain some agency and remove them myself. I am left in my thermal pants, standing in the dim bedroom in front of a fully dressed Julian. He leads me to the bed and gently positions me on my back in the middle of the soft bed. Lastly he removes the thermal pants, and his eyes roam over me. After a moment he opens the buttons on his white shirt but leaves it on. He crawls on top of me held up with his long legs on either side and his hands near my head. He smells delicious. He is not touching me but I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He leans in slowly and kisses my chufa then my lips then the side off my neck. It is a soft light kiss. He reaches beside the bed to the small table and opens the drawer. He pulls out several items and hold them up for me to see. The first is a cloth scarf, the second is a metal ball and the third is length of black smooth rope. 

I allow myself be positioned so that my arms are above my head. He ties the rope firmly around my wrists, and fastens the end to the headboard. My heart is pounding so hard it fills my head with a pulsing rhythm. He shimmies off the bed and ties the rope around each ankle, then affixes them to the bottom corners of the bed. The rope is soft, but it holds firm when I pull. Julian comes to the top of the bed again and stands next to my head. “Are you okay?” He asks. I do not trust myself to speak so I nod weakly. He places the small metal ball into my bound hand and closes my fingers around it. It contains some sort of bell, and I can hear it tinkle as it moves. “If you need me to stop for any reason, I want you to let go of the ball.” He directs. I try to look up the metal sphere, but in my position it is out of my view. “Do you understand?” I don’t understand. I nod my head anyway. He then ties a bulky knot into the middle of the scarf and pushes it into my mouth. That was unexpected and I try to pull away, but he manages to affix it around my head and stands back to admire his work. “Garak, I need you to promise me you will drop the ball if anything makes you uncomfortable or you want to stop” I try to speak but the knotted fabric is sitting behind my teeth and holding my tongue in place, so all that comes out is a quiet mewl. I nod my head again, instead. He is looking at me intensely. A hungry look. When he decides he is satisfied with my agreement to his rules he climbs back onto the bed and straddles my hips. 

He rubs his palm very gently across my face, following the path of my ridges then slaps me hard. I breathe slowly. He moves his hands to my hair and pulls my head back to expose my neck. He licks and bites the ridges at my neck, carefully avoiding the injury, until I can’t suppress a moan. Cardassian’s have very few sensitive areas. Our nerves are quite protected from everyday irritation, however when one of our more sensitive spots is finally stimulated it can overwhelm us. I am overwhelmed. Have I ever dared imagine this? Even in the safety of my own imagination I have never conjured anything as scandalous as allowing myself to be debased this way. Images of Tain’s condemnation begins to creep into my mind. Then another slap pulls me into the present. It leaves a slight stinging sensation and a ringing sound in my ears. 

He moves down to sit between my legs and leans forward to inspect my ajan. No one has ever seen me this way. I am thoroughly humiliated and I instinctively pull my legs together as much as the ropes allow. He runs one long finger along the scales at the edge of my slit. I am wet, and his finger glides along the scales, spreading my natural lubrication around the opening until he very gently pushes his slick finger inside. I close my eyes tightly. It feels so different from my own finger. He pushes further inside exploring until he reaches the tip of my prUt and he caresses it. It is nearly too much. I cry out but the knotted scarf muffles the sound. 

He reaches back into the drawer that held the rope and gag and pulls out another item. He holds it in front of me. It is a short loop of leather, fixed into a wooden handle. I immediately know its purpose.”you can make as much noise as you need to” he says. “The quarters next to mine are empty.” I nod again, and he drags the leather across my chest and down to my dripping ajan. The first strike is across my chest, to the left of my chula. It is not terribly painful. The next several are similarly placed and a warmth begins to pulse through the area. When the following strike hits the chula itself, a painful spasm makes me writhe and pull at the ropes. By the time he has finished I am trembling and whimpering into the gag. He leans over my battered chest and very softly kisses the sensitive ridges and indentations. It is torture. I can feel fluid dripping down my thigh. 

He moves down to sit again between my legs and raises the strap to strike me there. I gasp and grip the ball tightly, trying to ready myself. He does not hold back and the first strike causes a white hot pain. It is intense and paralyzing. He strikes four more times in quick succession and I scream into the scarf. “Breathe, Garak” he whispers and runs his finger across the bruised scales. They are flushed nearly black and swollen. I force myself to take a deep steadying breath. “Do you want to continue?” He asks and I close my eyes and nod my head. The doctor drops the strap beside the bed and leans forward. I can feel his breath. Then he licks a stripe along the my slit. Every nerve lights up and I have to clench down to keep from everting. His lips are against my ajan and his tongue is licking inside, rubbing against the delicate misused tissue there. It still throbs with pain, but there is also pleasure now. Each time he runs his tongue deep into my ajan I shudder. The metal ball tinkles in my fist as I shake against the ropes. I loose all sense of time as wave after wave of ecstasy washes over me. 

When he pulls his head away I can see his face is wet with my lubrication. It is filthy. He grins and pulls his shirt off, then wiggles out of his pants. He is kneeling naked between my legs now. His body is lean and muscular. There is a patch of curly hair at his navel that continues down to his prUt. It is external, as Terran are, and longer than a Cardassian organ. It is swollen and hard already with a bead of liquid dripping from the tip. I am grateful for the scarf now as it hides the stream of vows and devotions I am unleashing. I noiselessly beg him to fuck me. He holds himself on one arm near my head and leans down to kiss me through the scarf. He takes my hair into his other hand and pulls my head back exposing my neck. He bites into it hard, harder than the last time. I buck under him and evert. He reaches his hand down and guides his erection into my ajan slowly. I lift my hips to meet him. I feel the stretch as my body struggles to accommodate him. He pushes into the tissue behind my everted prUt and rubs against the my internal walls. I already feel the tension building. Every thrust rubs against the bruised scales of my ajan. I am burning. The entire universe has been distilled down to the point where our bodies connect. My prUt is caught between us and the friction increases the tension until I can’t take any more. I try to pull away but the ropes limit my movement. Julian pushes himself onto his knees and takes my prUt into his hand while he continues to fuck me. He stokes me in time with each thrust, his hand slippery and hot. I hear a scream and I realize it is me. I am on the edge. Every muscle is tense. My orgasm washes over me and I have no choice but to surrender to it. Pleasure overtakes me in waves. Julian resumes thrusting into me at a punishing pace. I whimper as my already over-sensitized flesh is assaulted. He grows rigid and moans deeply. He pushes deep into me and I feel his prUt spasm. He wraps one arm behind my neck and pushes his forehead against mine. We would be chufa to chufa, if he’d had one. Does he know the meaning to this gesture? 

He reaches up with one hand and pulls at the rope at my wrists. It falls away with one pull. I realize he used a simple slip knot and I pull my hands free. He gets out of the bed and I immediately regret the loss of his body heat. He leaves for a moment and brings back a warm damp white towel that he uses to wipe away some of the mess we have made. I am too exhausted to object so I let him tend to me. He removes the ropes at my ankles and pulls the heavy blanket over me, then crawls under. Tomorrow I will have to return to my shop and my life but for now I snuggle closer and breathe in his scent.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning comes to me gradually. I wake bits at a time, my mind slowly trying to piece together shards of reality. I am sore. My muscles ache, and there is a sharp pain in my neck and a deeper pain in my chest and ajan. I am warm. No I am nearly hot, like summer in Cardassia. There air is heavy with the scent of some foreign spice and the lingering smell of sex. The events of the evening spring into my mind and I open my eyes. I am still in Julian’s bed. I can hear him moving around in the next room. I begin to panic. What will he think of me now? I have likely destroyed the only companionship this station has to offer me. I wonder if I can sneak out unseen, but as I sit up he enters the bedroom. 

He is dressed in a pair of garish boxers and nothing else. In the brighter light I can see him clearly. His muscles sit close to his skin in a landscape of graceful peaks and valleys. The bones of his ankles and ribs are just visible, as are his hipbones. The hair I saw trailing down his abdomen also graces his legs. There is a deep indent in the very center of his stomach, just above his absent chuva, and two brownish marks on his chest. He is lovely, but also less perfect than I remember. More real. His hair is messy, there are several small scars and marks on his leg, tiny wrinkles around his eyes. The real Julian Bashir, in his real quarters walking toward me. 

He is smiling so sweetly and holding a medical kit and a mug. He sets the mug on the bedside table and opens the kit. “Good morning Garak” He is cheerful. There is no hint of disgust or even the smugness I expected. “Do you mind if I..?” He holds a dermal regenerator up and I tilt my head in agreement. “I really should have done this yesterday, I’m sorry.” He is sheepish. He starts with the neck ridge that he shot in the holosuite and moves to my somewhat battered chest. He runs the device with purpose along the bruises, and soothes the healed scales with his fingers. When he is finished he glances down at the blanket that is pooling around my lap. “That is quite alright my dear” I try to deflect him from his mission. “Please, Garak, I feel terrible for neglecting to do this right away.” I make no move to remove the blanket and he sets the regenerator on the table next to the mug. “What if I left the room and you could do it yourself?”. I am relieved. “That would be agreeable” I respond, with as much dignity as I can gather. “I made some tea” he offers with renewed eagerness. “Yes, thank you” I smile back to him. His earnestness is infectious. He leaves the room and shuts the door to offer me some privacy. He did not need to worry, the scales on my more delicate areas are slightly bruised but the skin is unbroken. I run the dermal regenerator along the opening anyway and I feel some relief from the deep ache that I woke up with. 

When I am finished, I give myself a cursory wash, dress in the clothes I wore yesterday, and straighten my hair, as much as possible given the circumstances. I am somewhat presentable and ready to face whatever the morning brings. I take a sip of the steaming hot tea, it is sweet and spicy with deep earthy undertones. Unexpectedly complex and pleasant. I am not familiar with it. I have, over the months, sampled all the hot drinks available from the stations replicators. I taste the tea again, and notice a little sediment that has gathered at the edge of the cup. It seems Julian has made me real tea this morning. 

I take the mug and leave the bedroom to find the doctor sitting at the small table near his replicator. There are several dishes crowding the tiny table and an extra chair is pushed out for me. “I had hoped you would have some breakfast with me before you open your shop” Julian gestures to the empty chair. He is dressed now, in his starfleet uniform. He is Dr. Bashir again. Our breakfast has the aura of one of our replimat lunches. He had prepared tea in a shapely golden teapot. It is, he explains, from a region on earth his ancestors had once inhabited, and was sent to him by an aunt. He also replicated scones, jam, eggs and rokossa juice. We discuss what book to read next and debate Bajor’s current political strategy. I casually ask him how he was the first to find me in the lower decks, but he claims it is all a blur to him, and he was sure that operations notified him of the medical emergency. Julian is a terrible liar. 

When it is nearly time for his shift to begin, and for me to open my shop, I stand to leave and he wraps his long arms around my shoulders. He leans in for a kiss. It is relatively tame, just a press of his lips against mine, his eyes are closed and his long lashes rest on his cheeks. “I have a busy week, but I would like to meet for lunch tomorrow, if you are available, or dinner...” “Of course, doctor” I assure him. I find that I mean it. I know Julian’s interest in me is fleeting. I am a novelty that will be disregarded when someone new and more appropriate catches his eye. I intend to take full advantage of whatever he offers. I press my palms to his then turn and walk out the door.

* * *

The confusion and frustration that has been building for months, perhaps years, seems to have cleared. I open my shop for the morning with a feeling of clarity that I have not felt since before my exile. I throw myself into work, finishing the days tasks in a few hours. With my afternoon I read any news I can get my hands on. I watch for patterns in the information. Sudden shifts of power, subtle changes in the flow of currency. Nothing can be taken at face value, but tiny kernels of truth can be gleaned from the most trivial articles. I keep careful tabs on anything that could be of use to The Union. I may never be welcomed back to my home but I am a devoted Cardassian, even in my exile. I redouble my efforts to be of use. In the early days I sent reports, weekly briefs containing any intelligence I could gather. I decide to revisit that practice. Some of my value comes from the fact that I am now outside the Cardassian bureaucracy completely. With no status, I am free to watch and listen without expectation. 

In the evening I go to Quark’s to watch for the stations ubiquitous black-market traders. I find myself in the market for a transmitter that can send a signal as far as Cardassia. I believe my previous transmitter is still hidden in the wall of the data center, but I am not ready to return to the lower decks. I select a seat at the bar near a nervous looking Bolian and order a kanar from Quark. I ask him if business has been well and find a moment to tell him some of my shops equipment needs to be replaced. Quarks prices are much to inflated for me but it is the Bolian I was interested in anyway. He takes the bait and sits closer to me as soon as Quark has moved on to other customers. He has an entire ship of questionably obtained technology. We agree on a price for the transmitter from a smaller salvaged cargo ship and he makes arrangements to meet me in my shop the following morning. 

I finish my kanar and muse on how much better Julian’s vintage was. I wonder if the bottle is still next to his sofa. The day has been quite productive and even sitting in Quark’s with a low quality replicated kanar is...nice. The twisted path of my past feels inevitable to me. This exact point in time is immutable. No matter what choices I made or what choices were made for me I would always end up here. In this place. But now it does not seem like as much of a burden. I still smell Julian on my clothing. There is a soft ache where he bit my neck ridge. I am as close to happy as I can remember ever being. 

* * *

By lunch time the following day I have already acquired a new transmitter and hid it in the back room of my shop, a much more accessible location. Julian enters the shop just as I am setting the closed sign for lunch. “Ah, my dear, right on time” I call to him. He stands just inside the shop and locks the door behind him. He pulls me into the dressing room, throws his arms around my neck and begins kissing me fiercely. He is needy and clumsy, touching whatever skin he can reach. I kiss him back with equal desperation until we must stop for breath. I feel him smile with his face pressed against mine. “I missed you” he says brightly. I missed him. We straitened our clothes and head to the replimat together. 

The chief has managed to program some new dishes into the replicators. Julian is animatedly explaining each dish to me. There is Indian chai tea, and several other Terran dishes Julian wants me to try. He has fish curry, fluffy triangular savory pastries, and a thick paste called hummus. He places some of each on a plate for me and we sample them together. The curry is unexpectedly delicious. It is somewhat reminiscent of a Cardassian dish from the the coast, intricate and rich with a spicy sauce. The pastry has a texture I don’t care for and Julian eats them all with enthusiasm. The hummus is mild and pleasant and the tea is sweet and rich, although I prefer the real tea he made for me in his quarters. 

I sip from my generic replicated mug and watch him struggle to pull apart the most recent enigma tale. It is a bit formulaic, but more accessible than most Cardassian literature and I knew the doctor would enjoy it. “But Garak, Borven was the victim of murder. He was a teenager killed while working at a bakery, for goodness sakes. How could he be guilty?” He is indignant. His eyes sparkle. “Perhaps everyone is completely innocent then? Would that align with your federation morals? The murderer was simply expressing himself?” I lean forward “If you read chapter fifteen again you will see that Borven was not what he seemed.” “But who is?” Julian responded, strangely serious. “Indeed doctor, who is?” “Can I see you tonight?” He is so delightfully direct. “I believe I can make time this evening. After dinner?” “Come for dinner. I’ll get takeout from the Bajoran restaurant, and we can see if I have acquired a taste for kanar yet.” I accept with pleasure and return to my shop. 

I busy myself in the afternoon setting up the transmitter and carefully refining the modulation to be nearly invisible alongside the stations regular transmissions. When I am sure of my work, I place it in a compartment inside the machinery of my larger cutting table. Unless one knows exactly what they are looking at, it will appear to be merely another tailoring device, hidden in plain sight. I turn on the stations news broadcasts to listen while I sew. I am intrigued by a story featuring out of work betazoid miners. A lucrative mine, on an uninhabited planet, was sold to an environmental protection group. The interesting bit was the mine belonged to the family of the unfortunate betazoid bridal party. I wonder if any of the ships docking the day of my attack can be traced back to that planet. I believe I have some inquiries to make. 

I arrive just as Julian is walking down the corridor with several parcels. He hands me two of them, and we enter his quarters together. He has brought a feast. There is easily enough food for four people. I am becoming quite spoiled. We dine on larish pie, mapa bread, alva jam, hasperat, and spring wine. There is still over half the bottle of kanar left, and I fill my glass. This evening is so much different from my last visit to Julian’s quarters. There is an air of domesticity about this dinner. Julian puts on Terran music and we eat, sampling items from each others plates and filling each others cup whenever there is a chance. 

By his third glass of spring wine Julian is growing flush. He leans forward a bit closer than necessary to pilfer a spoon of alva jam from my plate. I catch his mouth in a quick terran kiss. He tastes of wine and spices and sweet jam. He drops the bit of bread he was eating and slides from his chair onto my lap to continue the kiss. He is heavier than he looks and the weight is reassuring. It feels so natural for him to be here, chest to chest, with his lips and tongue exploring my mouth. I am brazen and I unzip the uniform open and pull his undershirt over his head. He lifts his arms over his head like an obedient child. The feeling of his naked flesh against my tunic is erotic. 

He explores my ridges with his mouth, licking and nibbling his way across my neck and chin. “I like you like this.” he says pensively. “Like what, precisely?” “Relaxed. You seem so much more relaxed” he is nuzzling my ear. His breath is warm and damp against my skin. I take a drink of my kanar and he brushes his tongue across my lips. He grins, “I think I am developing a taste for kanar after all.” I am relaxed, and yet I am growing cautious of Julian’s intentions. Why would a young starfleet doctor, a shining star in the crown of the federation, choose to involve himself with an aging and exiled enemy agent. There is a falseness to it all. If I could find a reason for his attentions, some ulterior motive for the way he is running his hands down my sides, something I could understand, maybe I could believe in it. I want to believe in it.

Julian notices my quiet, and pulls back to look at me face to face. He is so close. “What is going through that impenetrable mind of yours?” I do not answer, but I smile to alleviate his worry and press my chufa to his smooth forehead. The gesture is immensely intimate. I am certainly not qualified to lay this kind of claim to Julian. The expression of devotion between the closest of family members and bonded couples is something many Cardassians never experience in their entire lives. I am emboldened by the knowledge that Julian has no idea of its importance. He naively performed it our first night, and the feeling of it has stayed with me. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dr. Julian Bashir is brilliant. He is kind, and lovely, and clever. My kind and clever doctor has me tied to a metal post installed in his bedroom. My wrists are bound above my head by soft black ropes. It is just the right height, that I can relieve some of the pull by standing on my toes. It is uncomfortable. My focus is pulled back and forth between the harsh pull of the ropes, and the thin flexible cane he is using on my naked back and thighs. He displayed the accursed thing to me before pulling blindfold over my eyes and pushing the scarf into my mouth. It is the length of his forearm and made of what he called bamboo. Each strike is a tiny spark, but they are building into a fierce punishment. 

Without use of my eyes I try to follow him with my ears. Cardassian hearing is poor compared to most species, and Julian is very quiet. He hits and caresses me in an unpredictable pattern. A sudden series of strikes against my buttocks is offset by soothing hands against my tender scales. Then a blow on my already tormented shoulder ridge. It is maddening. I suddenly feel a loop of rope capture one of my ankles and I struggle to free it. The rope is pulled up, lifting my leg along with it. I balance as well as I can on my remaining foot and the pull on my wrists increases. My already nude body is on display in the most obscene fashion. Julian runs a finger along my ajan, just dipping inside to the first knuckle. “So beautiful” he sighs. It is feigned, I am sure, but I flush with pleasure anyway. He renews his cycle of ruthless caning and stroking. I grip the metal sphere in my bound hand tightly. 

In the two months we have been together I have only stopped him once. He used a type of mask to cover my eyes and mouth together. I was struck with a sudden bout of claustrophobia and dropped my signal. It crashed and clattered against the floor. At once, Julian released me and checked for any injury. I felt foolish for my overreaction, but he comforted and reassured me. We sat for the rest of the evening, together on the sofa, and chatted until he was satisfied I had recovered enough to return home. The blindfold over my eyes tonight is just a soft scrap of fabric he hijacked from my shop. It does not give me the same closed in sense, and in fact I have found I enjoy the added challenge. 

I hear a soft buzz coming from my left side. Julian has a tool of some kind. This is new. I hold myself as still as possible and take a deep breath. He holds the thing firmly against my exposed ajan. It is cold and smooth. The vibrations cause fireworks in the darkness. He rubs it several times in the wetness before pushing it into my slit. I gasp at the sensation. I shudder as the vibrations cause my scales to tingle and tighten against eachother. My prUt pushes against the vibrating object, trying to evert, but I am trapped in my sheath. I pant, trying to keep control. I feel my orgasm building. He pushes the object slowly in and out, stoking my inner walls and teasing my trapped prUt. 

When I feel the first fluttering of an orgasm, he removes the buzzing object and returns to canning my back. I swear into the scarf. I rage and sob but he continues unfazed. The scales along my back are growing so sensitive from the ceaseless abuse. I can not hold myself still any longer and I flinch with each strike. He pauses and rubs his fingers along my slit. My body is tense. He pushes inside, rubbing the scales at my opening with his thumb and the delicate tissue inside with his finger. It only takes him a few moments to cause me to evert. He takes my prUt into his mouth, it is soft and wet and fiery hot. His tongue rubs and licks the head for a moment before he plunges all the way down to the base. It is exquisite. His mouth glides from head to base in a smooth steady rhythm while his tongue teases the ridge along my length. My hands are growing numb, and I am finding it more and more difficult to balance on my single free leg. I buck and shake in my ropes as I once again approach release. He stops his effort and pulls away. I can no longer do much more than whimper. It feels like I have been here an eternity. Brought just to the brink over and over. 

Finally, he releases my ankle and I am allowed to stand on both feet. He unfastens my wrists from the post but leaves them tied together. He very gently lowers me to the floor. My swollen and bruised back aches as he positions me face up and ties my hands to the base of the post. He strokes my prUt several times and runs his other hand along the sensitive opening behind it. I am begging. The strangled words that I sob into the scarf have lost all meaning. He then positions himself on top of me. I don’t understand at first when I feel an impossibly tight heat slowly envelope me. Oh mercy. I am inside him. He moves at a leisurely pace. Each thrust pushes my tormented back into the hard floor and draws my overstimulated prUt deep into him. He leans forward and wraps his hands around my throat. Cardassian necks are well protected, compared to Terrans, but he is a doctor and he knows exactly where to push. He holds me firmly but does not squeeze. It is a threat. I was already so close to the edge. I hear him moan, soft and needy, and the sound pushes me over. I scream into the scarf and writhe under Julian. I feel myself coming into him. I fall and fall and fall. 

Floating. In the distance I hear Julian murmuring something. I don’t understand it. The melodic patterns rise and fall as he reaches his own release. He collapses forward onto my chest and reaches up to unfasten my wrists. He pulls the scarf free from my mouth and uncovers my eyes. I lay unmoving, with my eyes closed, listening to our hearts beat together. He leans in to kiss the ridge near my jaw. It is a favorite of his. He kisses and licks and nibbles it whenever he can. The air smells of sweat and sex and Julian. He gets up and heads for the lavatory. He will return in a few minutes with a warm towel, his dermal regenerator, and a cup of hot red leaf tea. It has become a sort of ritual, he cleans our mess, heals whatever wounds I have received and offers a few sips of warm tea before leading me to the shower. No matter how badly he takes me apart, he is always here to put me back together. 

* * *

I believe I have found a thread. I tiny connection. The mine that was sold in the aftermath of the disastrous wedding, is in the Terod system. Most of the population of that system fled The Borg years ago and never returned. The planet containing the mine was uninhabited, besides a few settlements of temporary workers. The day of the disappearance a ship coming from that planet was docked at the station. It was listed as a supply ship bringing supplies and crew to the mine. Tarok Nor is a long way from the Terod system. I wonder what they were doing here? There are thousands of more convenient stations they could have come to for supplies. 

I have obtained a copy of the passenger log as well as the cargo register. The most incredible events surfaced. No passenger or crew member came on board. No cargo was unloaded. Nothing. The ship arrived. Stayed for several hours and left again for apparently no reason at all. A few days later, another ship, owned by the same supply company docked again for several hours and left. No passengers, no cargo. The visual data from the docking ring is kept for security purposes. It should be quite simple for me to access it if I know the date and time. While I am waiting for my opportunity to access the stations systems I decide to send my suspicions anonymously to the Betazoid home world. I am not at leisure to leave the station so I must outsource some of the legwork. 

* * *

I amble about my shop tidying and organizing all morning. A shipment of silks has arrived this afternoon and I must make room for them. There is a Bajoran festival soon, and I have already had several inquiries into commissions. It was originally a sort of harvest festival. A holiday for families to spend some well deserved time together after the difficult work of the harvest and before the hardship of winter began. Over the centuries it has morphed into a romantic spectacle. Courting young people, in meticulously coordinated outfits go to great pains to show each other up. I hate every bit of it. It is also one of the busiest days of the year for me. 

I unpack each bolt of fabric with the utmost care. It is Traxian and terribly expensive. I would not have thought to purchase it if I hadn’t come into an excess of credits from the Betazoid incident. I was worried, for a time, that their family would come looking for a refund on dresses that were never received. But, compared to their immense wealth, the few bars of latinum I have are not even worthy of attention. 

The silk is light and airy with the smoothest weave of any fabric in the quadrant. I have purchased five colors. There is a light grey-blue, the color of Cardassia’s sky at midday, steely and soothing. A soft warm pink with a slight shimmer. It is the color that Julian blushes in the throes of passion. A soft golden beige, like desert sand. A dark navy that pulls me into its depths. It is the space outside my quarters. And a rich and vibrant burgundy. The color of the blood Julian sometimes wipes from my skin after our time together. It is smooth and luminous in my hands. This occupation, of tailoring, was another facet of my punishment. I must admit there are some parts I enjoy a great deal. I drape one bolt of each color behind the counter to discourage damage and put the rest of the order into my back room. 

* * *

The next morning as I am readying the first of the gaudy Harvest Festival dresses, Odo comes to my shop. He is moody. Then, he is always moody. It seems the missing Betazoid women have been found. Two alive and one dead, on a ship in orbit around Terod 3. They were in stasis and claim to have no idea who was responsible for their disappearance. He discloses the discovery was made after an anonymous tip was sent to the Betazoid government. “How fortuitous” I reply. He knows it was me. He will never be able too prove it. I appreciate Odo’s simple straight forward idea of justice. My presence disquiets him. I am anathema to everything he upholds. “Who do you suppose sent in the clue?” I ask with such a mocking coquettish tone, he rolls his eyes. “Garak” he replies. It is a single exasperated word. A threat and resignation in two exaggerated syllables. Our banter is light but he will be watching me closer than usual. I will have to back off for a little while. 


	7. Chapter 7

The last 78 hours has been trying. Many of the stations Bajoran residents avoid my shop on principal, however I received nearly hundred orders for festival costumes this week. I worked 20 hours a day for the last 3 days to finish them on time. To appease their moral outrage at resorting to a Cardassian merchant, most of them were quite contemptuous. I don't begrudge them their anger but it is...draining. The resulting garments were worth every bit of trouble. It was remarkably pleasurable to work with fine silks and laces. Sweeping dresses with poetry embroidered along the hem, high jackets with shining silver buttons, gathered and tucked shirts in shimmering silk, it was such a change from the drudgery of repairing uniforms and constructing low quality holosuite dress-up. 

Julian left a message that he wants to see me tonight. I dread the thought of doing anything more than reading a bit and sleeping early. I hinted to him that I am terribly worn, but he is persistent. It is difficult to refuse him. It is especially difficult when only a few months ago I would have done nearly anything for such a message from him. 

In my quarters, I splash my face with water and order a raktajino from the replicator. I do not care for the bitter Klingon stimulant, but it helps my fatigue. I hope Julian does not have anything too strenuous in mind. By the time I have had my first sip of the hot drink, the door chimes. I smooth down my tunic and call out “enter”. 

Julian is all warm smiles and barely contained excitement. “I have a surprise for you” he says cryptically. I tilt my head to him and wait for an explanation. “I have the holosuite for us for two hours!” Oh mercy, no. There are two reasons Julian would want me to go with him to the holosuites. The first is to include me in some insufferable historical game. He has mentioned several times that he wishes we could replay the spy program as it was meant to be played, without the risk of death or a population of starfleet transporter patterns. 

The second, and perhaps even more exhausting reason, would be to allow us more creativity in our “scenes” as he calls our more adventurous sexual activities. Several weeks after our first encounter, he mentioned finding it arousing to imagine including another person in our coupling. I was shocked. I was torn between intense jealousy and shame at the idea. He went on to describe penetrating me while another man violates my mouth and I could see his eyes become dark and glassy with arousal. What he described was so depraved and yet from his mouth, it sounded like a declaration of devotion. I have to admit the idea did have some appeal, but I would never trust anyone besides Julian in such a vulnerable position. He suggested the holosuites might offer us the a compromise between fulfilling the somewhat extreme perversion he proposed, and maintaining my sense of self preservation. I would be willing to follow through on his idea, after an appropriate investigation into Quarks potential voyeurism. Tomorrow perhaps. In a few days. Just not today. I long for a moment of rest. 

He tells me not to bother changing clothes as it won’t be necessary with the program he has found. It is to be the second reason, it seems. I gather my strength and follow him to the row of doors above Quark’s bar. When we enter, we are outside a large domed building. The air is warm and the sun is shining on the pale marble of the elaborate structure. The windows are covered in filigreed screens, tall arches and towers surround us. It is lovely. Softly organic and yet geometrically complex. I find it very different from sweeping architecture on my home planet. It is so foreign that I am unsure what sort of building it is. I wonder if it exists somewhere in the Federation, or if is purely from the imagination of the programmer. 

We enter the elaborate doorway, situated between tall imposing pillars. There is a winding hallway with a well worn path leading to a series of doors. The stone walls feel warm and alive. He leads me to one of he doors, and inside I find a large cavernous room. Light filters in through the many screened windows in the high domed ceiling, creating patterns of light and shadow on the pale stone. There is a large marble slab in the middle of the room and shallow pools of water around the edge. It is ornate. Carvings and tile mosaics cover every surface. Everything is the same pale marble. The effect is somehow quiet. And the heat. It is blessedly hot. It seems to be radiating from the platform in the center. 

I look questioningly at Julian. “Its a hamam, a kind of bathhouse” He explains. “They have been used on earth for thousands of years.” He takes my hand and rubs his thumb along the knuckles. “You’ve been working so hard, I thought you could use a break.” I believe I misjudged his surprise. He has done this as a gift for me. Something I needed. I am touched. He strips off his uniform and wraps a large woven towel around his waist. He hands me a matching towel and I undress as well. We lay side by side on the flat marble and it is indeed hot. Julian has to lay an extra towel out to keep from scalding his skin. I am reminded of the saunas on Prime. The heat warms me in a way I have not felt in ages. It was in another lifetime that I laid on basking stones in the sultry Cardassian air. Julian hums with contentment and stretches his long limbs. 

After warming himself for a while he walks to the basins at the edge of the room. He collects some water and a basket of items and carries them back to me. “There are some customs we usually observe in the hamam” he says while emptying the basket. It contains a stiff sponge, both human and Cardassian soap and scale oil. He directs me to lay on my stomach while he washes my back and legs. It is divine. His hands are strong and sure against my sore muscles. He rubs and massages me from my shoulders to my feet with scented Cardassian soap. Each long stroke of his surgeons hands relaxes me until I nearly slip into sleep. He then rubs the oil across each scale, stroking in light circles along my back. It is decadent and hedonistic and entirely wondrous. When he is satisfied with his work, I turn and he begins again on my chest. He works his way down, gently washing and oiling every inch. He is careful to avoid my ajan or any overly erogenous zone. He rubs his thumbs into my sore overworked palms and fingers until I feel reborn. 

He brings iced tea in small cut glass cups, the light cool herbal taste is refreshing with so much heat. Julian drinks his tea then washes himself while I watch. I believe he is putting on something of a show. He strokes the soapy sponge along his wet skin. Lathering, rinsing and stretching from his muscular legs to his fine delicate neck. I offer to wash his back and he hands me the sponge and turns away from me. His back is graceful. Sinuous muscle and sharp angles sit just under his golden skin. I spend much of our intimate time “restricted”. It is unusual to have such free access to a naked Julian. I let my hands wonder and explore. He feels deceptively soft and fragile. His strength surprises me at times. I bring myself close and taste the air. The heat is making him sweat but it is a clean smell. Wet and salty. Terrans are so wasteful with their moisture. It is immediately obvious they come from a planet soaked in water. We lay side by side in the heat for the remainder of our allotted time. I doze for a little while. We are quiet but it is comfortable. 

As he walks me back to my quarters Julian allows his hands to brush against mine. I long to take his arm and walk together as a courting couple. What we have together is the beginning of something, but what can it lead to? If Starfleet discovered he was fraternizing with an enemy agent it could ruin his career. If Tain discovered... I have been avoiding the thought whenever it invades my mind. I wonder what would anger him more. That I am romantically involved with a Starfleet officer? That I have debased myself beyond anything my younger self could have imagined? That I am happy? Would the doctor even want that sort of relationship with me? We have never spoken of it. We have never given a name to what is between us. I glance at him and he appears untroubled. He is looking fondly at me. I think my heart will burst. 

The warmth stays with me all through the night. Every scale on my body remembers Julian’s touch. I curl in my quilts and casually read a book Julian lent me some time ago. I initially recoiled from the tangled implications of the title “The Epistle of Forgiveness”, but I am finding it both amusing and challenging. There are cultural nuances and historical figures I don’t understand. I read and reread several passages, then mark them for discussion with the doctor at our next lunch. I fall asleep soundly with the padd on my chest.

* * *

The following day my shop is closed for the festival observation. I have the entire day to myself. Station security will be quite busy with the drunk and celebratory Bajoran population. It is the perfect time to review footage from the docking ring. Accessing it is almost disappointingly simple. The footage from the area the ship was docked at is clearly forged. It is the same hour looped over and over.

I try a different tactic and attempt to view the area in the background of the next dock. I compare each view looking for a glimpse of the girl. Seven hours in I see her. Just a bit of her clothing and hair but it is unmistakable. My heart pounds. The sight of her causes a visceral reaction in me. I replay the few seconds several times. She is talking to someone but they are out of view. I play ahead looking for any sign of who it is but they must have left the other direction. The stations long corridors are all very similar and locating the correct one takes nearly another hour. I find the footage for the corridor leading to the other side of the docking ring and watch until I find the correct time stamp. There is only one person that passes by, heading away from the docking ring at that time. I watch it over and over. I grow light headed. The blue and black uniform. The long lean figure. 

It is Julian. My Julian. 


	8. Chapter 8

I am torn into pieces. My reason fragments into opposing parts. My first impulse is to confront him. To take a phasor to his office and demand the truth. My second is to erase all evidence of the video and go on as we are, for as long as he allows it. I watch the visual feed compulsively. He walks down the corridor with purpose. He goes directly to the turbo lift and heads to the lower levels. There are no feeds from the unused levels, but I know this is when he collects me from the wretched data center. I need more information. I am at a terrible disadvantage. 

I access the official report from Odo’s office. Why did I not do this sooner? I have been distracted. The full report is several hundred pages long. I skip to Julian’s interview. He claim’s to have received a distress signal to the lower level. Odo’s notes here maintain there was no signal found, but strongly implies I had sent the signal, and managed to delete any trace of it. Julian goes on to say he found me in the data center, the door was open, and I was visible from the nearby corridor. The entire story is a fabrication. The door was locked with a code even I could not bypass. It seems whatever secret Julian is keeping, his beloved Starflleet is not privy to it. 

I need answers. Did The Girl tell Julian my whereabouts? Why? How does he know her? Why did he lie in his report? I have always found him to be honest to a fault. Morally unwavering. His feeble attempt at dissimilating, were painfully obvious and sweetly benevolent. I may not know him at all. A more terrifying though crosses my mind. Perhaps, she did not tell him where I am. Perhaps, they were accomplices. Julian knew exactly where I was, how to access the room, and showed up just as my blood loss was was turning critical. My insides twist at the idea. What would be the purpose for such a complex deception? I was once a high ranking Order operative, with a fair amount of influence, and access to Cardassia’s most secret archives. Now my harmless tailor facade is pitifully close to the truth. I have nothing that could be used to benefit any government or harm Cardassia. Was it just a game for him? 

I am trapped here, on the station. It is a stipulation of my exile that if I leave Tarok Nor I will be considered a rogue agent. I would be dead before I left the system. Julian has the protection of the entire Federation behind him. If any harm came to him that could directly, or even indirectly, lead to me, I would be sent away from the station, or imprisoned with Section 31. I am here, in the only place I can survive, at the pleasure of Captain Sisco. The hopelessness of my situation suddenly seems very evident. 

* * *

The doctor has been in the habit of visiting me, in my quarters, for dinner after his shift. He will finish in thirty minutes. I want to hide from him, but at the same time, I am impatient for his arrival. I have no choice but to face this head on. Without clear facts, my imagination has been building larger and more outrageous conspiracies. I will talk with him calmly. I hide a phasor in my sleeve anyway. I sit in the dark and chastise myself for my unforgivable foolishness. When I hear the door, I am startled out of my thoughts. I raise the lights and call for the door to open. He is there. 

Julian enters and immediately sees there is something amiss. “Garak?” He questions. “Garak is something wrong?” His voice is filled with concern. I do not trust it. “How do you know the girl that attacked me?” I ask. A direct question, it offers him less time to construct a story. He takes a step toward me and I take a step back. His eyes dart back and forth as he tries to make sense of what is happening. He looks like a trapped animal. “You met with her at lest once, the day I was found in the data center. How do you know her.” I try to keep my voice steady, intimidating. I am finding it difficult. 

Julian looks at the floor. His fingers are twitching restlessly. He swallows. “Can we sit down?” He sounds defeated. I nod in the direction of my cramped dining area and he sits in one of the two chairs. I pull the second chair a few feet back and sit facing him. This is my training. It is still second nature to me after all these years. He is biting the inside of his cheek. Nervous. “Go ahead” I direct him. “Do you know much about human augments?” He asks at last. Terran DNA has a great deal more flexibility than most sentient species. While Cardassians can do a bit of tweaking here and there, to avoid diseases or slightly increase potential, Terrans can change entire swaths of traits and still create a viable fetus. There was a war. There are laws. “No, why don’t you enlighten me”. “I... its, uh, its illegal. I was altered as a child. My parents...” 

He is struggling. His eyes are glassy and wet but he is not yet crying. I want to reach out to him and I hate myself for the impulse. I move my chair back another few feet. “Altered how?” I ask. “It was... a lot...height, intelligence, strength... anything they could improve, they did.” “And this is illegal?” I ask, prompting him to continue. “Nobody knows what I am, I’ve had to keep it a secret since I found out as a teenager” Now that he has started, it seems a floodgate has opened. He describes trying to fit in, keeping himself slower, weaker. Dim and colorless so his peers would appear brighter. So no one would look too closely. A thousand observations suddenly click into place. The way he was so much stronger when we were alone. His wit and charm that would disappear in front of the chief or Sisco. 

“Although this is all very interesting, what does it have to do with the girl?” I interrupt. “Adigeon Prime” He pauses for a long time. I wait. He is looking away. Avoiding eye contact. “The hospital there, it’s where my DNA was resequenced. I was there for two months, recovering and then another few weeks every year until I was a teenager. I thought... I thought it was normal at first. My parents called it summer camp. Claire was... I knew her from there...” 

Claire. She has a name now. “So you and this “Claire” kidnapped and murdered Betazoid aristocracy, tried to kill me then you what? Decided to keep me around after all?” My rage is breaking through. His eyes grow wide “No!” He is looking at my right sleeve. He knows I keep a phasor there. He is afraid. Good. “No? you didn’t decide to “rescue” me from an attack **you** planned?” My voice is growing louder. “Garak, no! I had nothing to do with that.” He is becoming desperate, his voice cracks. “She knew I was here and she called me to the docking ring. I haven’t seen her since...” He pauses here. There is something he doesn’t want to say. “I haven't seen her since we were children. I didn't even know why she was here until I heard the news, and pieced it together, long after she had left.” “And at the space dock, what did she say to you?” “That there was something of mine in the lower level data center.” I stand up from my chair. “Something of yours?” The rage that has been threatening to erupt, spills over “I AM NOTHING OF YOURS !” I throw a small replicated cup that was sitting on the table and it misses his ear. It lands behind him against the wall, bounces instead of breaks. Unsatisfying. Julian ducks and begins backing toward the door. “Please Garak, I had no idea she had attacked you until I got to the data center. I don't know where she went”. I make a show of reaching for my phasor but don’t point it at him. “Do not ever return here Doctor Bashir” I say coldly as he leaves. 

I was overly dramatic. Emotional. I sit at my chair and try to understand what just happened, why I am so angry. His lies were understandable. They were established on self preservation. I certainly can identify with that, only too much. He did not owe me the truth about his genetic enhancements. Why does it hurt so much then? I remember the way he touched me, the way I let him touch me. I gave myself over to him so completely. I let him in. I became what he wanted me to be. He was a complete stranger, toying with me out of curiosity. It is not Julian’s fault. This is my failing completely. He was a poison that I drank willingly. Tain was right about me, I was sent here to protect The Union from contamination. 

* * *

I have not been to my shop in seven days. I have not left my quarters. I can not face the station. I do not sleep well. I sit in a place between conscious and unconscious going through each of my mistakes one by one. I count each time I let loneliness and weakness overcome me. Palandine. Prisoners that were released when they should have been executed. Professors teaching forbidden texts, that never made it into any of my reports. Tain’s doctor. The moment I saw Julian in the replimat for the first time. When I let him kiss me. When I went to his quarters. When I let him undress me. He has not contacted me. It is a small kindness. I don’t know what I would do if he came to me now. I pull the blanket closer to my shoulders to keep out the chill.

Odo visited my quarters. He stood at the door for so long that I finally had to let him in or risk a security override. He noticed my shop has been closed. “I am unwell” is all I tell him. He looks concerned. No, he shows me the image of someone concerned. He suggests I go to sickbay. I laugh and laugh, until he becomes uncomfortable and leaves. He is right. I have to stop indulging in this black mood. I spend the rest of the afternoon undoing the last week of poor habits. I clean my quarters, returning dishes to the replicator, folding clothes that were abandoned to the floor, and sweeping up pieces of items I threw against the wall in a rage a few days ago. When I am finished I spend time in the sonic shower and dress. The mirror in my small lavatory tells me I will still not quite pass for okay. 

I work in my closed shop, preparing briefs to send to Cardassia. I do not know if they are ever read, but I will send them. I include the insight into Betazoid, and the sale of the mine. I include the hospital on Adigeon Prime, and its augmentation program. I do not include Julian. I spend several hours finishing the reports then I pull out the golden beige silk I had saved. I wanted to make a shirt for Julian. I fold it up and pack it into a box with thread and designs I had started. I put it into storage along with the eleven rose shaped chocolates. 

I walk to Quark’s. The station feels particularly small. I would like to get lost somewhere, walk a deserted street and drink at a strange bar with people I don't know. I sit at a table upstairs and watch the crowds flow in and out. I have a kanar and then a second. Julian is here. I did not notice him enter. He is playing darts with O’Brian. I remember what he said. This game is a lie. He could beat the chief with no effort at all. Instead O’Brian is winning and Julian is feigning frustration. He smiles. It is a warm easy smile. I wonder if it is genuine. He still pulls at me. Is it harder now that I know what it feels like to be kissed by those soft lips, that are casually laughing, or touched by those long fingers? I don’t know. He catches my eye and gives me a solemn nod then purposely turns away. I know his secrets and he knows mine. There is a balance between us. I finish my drink and walk back to my quarters. It is cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a part 2 from Julian’s perspective. All is not hopeless yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome. No beta, all the mistakes are mine. Sorry.


End file.
